Chapter 3: Penthouse Ghosts

Just like he never brought me into his circle—I was always the awkward outsider. I was the girlfriend they tolerated, never truly accepted. It hurt, but I learned to live with it. Or at least pretend I did.

I turned around and smiled even more sweetly at him. I batted my eyelashes, turning the charm up to eleven. “Sorry, Jay, I didn’t pay attention to the details.”

But Julian’s face grew even darker, and he walked out without a word. He slammed the door behind him. I flopped onto the bed, letting out a groan. This man is impossible to please!

Enemies always cross paths. The next day, right after playing tennis with a client, I ran into Savannah Monroe and Julian together. They looked like a picture-perfect couple—Savannah in her white tennis skirt, Julian in his designer polo. I felt like a third wheel.

A flicker of embarrassment flashed across her face, since we never got along. She forced a smile, her eyes darting away from mine. I could tell she was just as uncomfortable as I was.

I always thought Julian and she were too close. They had that easy intimacy—inside jokes, shared memories, the kind of friendship that made me feel like an outsider. I hated it. I hated how much I wanted to be part of it.

They could share drinks, wear each other’s clothes, and Savannah even helped pick out his future fiancée. She once borrowed his hoodie and wore it to brunch, laughing about how it still smelled like his cologne. I remember wishing I could disappear.

I thought it was too much. It crossed a line, at least for me. But Julian never saw it that way. He just brushed it off, like my feelings didn’t matter.

But Julian hated when I minded these things. He’d roll his eyes, call me jealous, tell me to get over it. “It’s just Savannah,” he’d say, as if that explained everything. I wanted to scream.

“I’ll never put my girlfriend above my social circle. After all, you have nothing and can’t give me anything.” Those words still stung, even now. He’d said them during a fight, his voice slurred from too much whiskey. I never forgot them.

During one argument, Julian blurted out the truth while drunk. I dug my nails into my palm, holding back tears. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Poverty is humiliating, and being with someone who doesn’t love you makes it worse. It’s like being hungry in a room full of food you’re not allowed to touch. Every kindness feels like charity, every gift a reminder of what you lack.

See, now I’ve grown up. I can curse Savannah in my head while running over to hug her in surprise. I plastered on a big, fake smile and called out her name, waving like we were old friends. The client was still watching, after all.

The client hadn’t gone far, so I wanted him to see that the Monroe family’s daughter and I were good friends. Appearances mattered in this world. If I wanted to close the deal, I had to play nice with Savannah, no matter how much I resented her.

Savannah hugged me back, though I knew she was rolling her eyes inside. She squeezed me a little too tight, her voice sugary-sweet. “Long time no see, Marissa!”

“Jay said in the group chat that you two got back together. I’m so happy! I missed you, Marissa!” She gave me a dramatic air kiss, her perfume overwhelming. Julian watched us, his expression unreadable.

She gave me an exaggerated cheek kiss, while Julian looked at us, confused. I caught his eye, raising my eyebrows as if to say, “See? I can play this game too.”

I used to mind that they had a private group chat. It felt like a secret club I’d never be invited to. I’d see the notifications pop up on his phone and wonder what they were saying about me.

Julian never added me. He replied to them faster than to me and talked about things I couldn’t join in on. I’d watch him laugh at his phone, typing out long messages while I waited for a single-word reply. It drove me crazy.

Now, I’ve learned not to care. I made peace with being on the outside. It was easier that way. I didn’t need their approval anymore.

“Ah, I was immature before and said the wrong things, so I was too embarrassed to reach out later. Bestie, you don’t blame me, right?” I linked my arm through hers, grinning for the client’s benefit. “We’re good, right?”

I pretended to hold her hand, as if we were the best of friends. She squeezed my fingers, her nails digging in just a little too hard. “Of course, darling,” she purred.

“How could I! When Aunt Linda was looking for a fiancée for Jay, she asked me to help pick. I looked and looked, and still thought you were the best.” She said it with a wink, but the message was clear: she was part of the family, and I was just passing through.

Savannah always spoke with a hidden meaning. Every word was a veiled threat, a reminder of my place. I smiled anyway, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

After just a few words, she made it clear she had status in the Hayes family, and that after the breakup, Julian was still looking for a marriage alliance. She wanted everyone to know she was the gatekeeper, the one who decided who was in and who was out.

“I don’t have a marriage candidate, and I haven’t met anyone.” Julian’s voice was quiet, almost apologetic. He didn’t look at me when he said it. I didn’t know what to think.

After the breakup, Julian grew up too, learning to lower himself and explain. It was the first time I’d ever seen him admit he was wrong. It caught me off guard. Maybe he was changing, too.

He pushed the freshly served ice cream in front of me. The bowl was frosted, the scoop perfectly round. He nudged it toward me, a peace offering. I almost smiled.

Savannah took the first spoonful. She closed her eyes in delight, making a show of savoring the taste. “Mmm, vanilla. My favorite.”

“Vanilla! Better than my green tea.” She shot Julian a playful look, her smile bright and sharp. I rolled my eyes.

She squinted at Julian and smiled. He just shrugged, as if he couldn’t care less. I wished I could be that nonchalant.

Then Julian handed me the spoon he’d just used. He held it out, waiting for me to take it. I hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of everyone watching. My hand froze.

My eyes widened. It was such an intimate gesture, but in that moment, it felt awkward and forced. I wanted to disappear.

The Hayes family is so rich—can’t they buy another ice cream? Do we really need to share germs? I almost snorted. Only in this crowd.

I used to love sharing food with Julian, but now I just see it as a lack of hygiene. Maybe I’d grown up, or maybe I was just tired. Either way, I pushed the spoon away.

Honestly, I can’t accept it anymore. I shook my head, forcing a polite smile. “No, thank you.”

I calmly pushed the ice cream back to him. Refused. I kept my tone light, not wanting to make a scene. “Sorry, Jay. I can’t eat cold things during my period.”

Julian waved for the waiter and ordered me a hot chocolate. He didn’t miss a beat, snapping his fingers for the waiter. “One hot chocolate, please.”

“If I remember right, Marissa is allergic to chocolate,” Savannah interrupted. She leaned forward, her voice sweet but pointed. “You forgot, Jay?”

Julian looked at me in shock, wanting to confirm. His eyes widened, searching my face for the truth. I nodded, barely meeting his gaze. The embarrassment burned.

Even Savannah knows this. So when he dated me, just how little did he pay attention? It was humiliating, realizing how little he knew about me—even after all this time.

Luckily, I’ve learned to manage my expectations. I don’t hope for anything from him, so I’m not disappointed. I let the moment pass, laughing it off. “It’s fine. I’ll just have tea.”

As we left the tennis court, I spotted a familiar figure inside. I did a double take, my heart skipping a beat. Was that really Jackie Maddox?

Jackie Maddox—my best friend Riley’s favorite tennis player. Riley would have lost her mind if she were here. I fumbled for my phone, snapping a few quick photos.

I snapped a couple of photos and sent them to her. She instantly replied with a string of “ahhhhhh.” My phone buzzed with her excited messages. I grinned, feeling a little lighter for the first time all day.

I was chatting and laughing when Julian leaned over to look at my phone. I instinctively switched screens. My thumb moved faster than my brain, hiding the conversation out of habit. Old instincts die hard.

His smile vanished, and his whole body radiated anger. I could feel the tension rising, his jaw clenched tight. I braced myself for another argument.

How can the sponsor be mad? I rolled my eyes internally. He had no right to be jealous—not after everything.

I took the initiative to hold his hand. I laced my fingers through his, squeezing gently. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Sorry, I’m just not used to people looking at my phone after work. I didn’t mean anything by it.” I kept my voice soft, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Just chatting with Riley about tennis. Nothing important.”

I’ve learned: the one with less power can’t afford to have a temper. You have to be proactive and humble to keep the peace. Never give him a reason to walk away.

After all, I’ve gotten plenty of benefits from him—it’s not a bad deal. I reminded myself of the new clothes in my closet, the investment in my company. It was enough, for now.

“Why don’t you share things with me anymore?” Julian laced his fingers with mine and lowered his head to ask. His voice was quiet, almost pleading. I looked up at him, searching for the man I used to love.

Before, I told him everything: seeing a sunset, getting a lousy Uber, petting a cute puppy. I’d text him pictures of my lunch, stories about my day, every little thing that made me smile. I wanted him to be part of my world.

When I loved him most, I wanted to share everything, even if his replies were sparse. I didn’t care if he only sent back a thumbs-up. I just wanted him to know I was thinking of him.

I held his arm and gently shook it. I leaned into him, trying to bridge the gap between us. “You’re too busy with work. I don’t want to bother you.”

Actually, I just don’t think of him anymore. The words echoed in my head, heavy with guilt. I wondered if he could see the truth in my eyes.

Julian stroked my hair and said nothing. His touch was gentle, but his silence said everything. We were both pretending, in our own ways.

After that day, he started messaging me constantly, like he was obsessed. My phone buzzed at all hours—morning, noon, and night. He sent photos of his meals, updates on his meetings, even random memes. It was almost funny.

When I was dining with clients, he sent a photo—just two words: “Lunch.” It was a picture of a salad, artfully arranged. I stared at it, not sure how to respond.

A question mark popped up in my head: Why send this to me? I stared at the screen, confused. Was this his way of connecting, or just another power move?

The client was still there, so it wasn’t polite to play with my phone. Only after they left did I have time to reply. I typed out a quick response, hoping it sounded enthusiastic enough.

“Balanced nutrition, awesome 👍👍” I added a couple of emojis for good measure, then put my phone away.

While I was driving, my phone vibrated again. I glanced at the notification, sighing. Julian again.

“There’s a dinner tonight. I’ll be home late, around eleven. Don’t wait up.” He always kept me updated, as if I was waiting by the door with a casserole.

Julian added another line. “I hate business dinners.” I could almost hear the annoyance in his voice. I rolled my eyes, but typed out a sympathetic reply.

I swallowed my annoyance and replied: “I hate them too. Drink less, take care of yourself 😢😢” I threw in a couple of sad faces, hoping it would make him feel cared for.

After our roles reversed, I finally realized—I must have been so annoying, messaging so much before. It was a humbling realization. I wondered how he’d put up with me for so long.

I quickly messaged the company’s programmer to hook up an AI reply assistant to my Messenger. I sent a quick Slack message: “Hey, can you set up an auto-reply bot for my Messenger? Make it sound like me, but, you know, less needy.” Let AI be the perfect girlfriend who always replies on time.

I watched as the responses rolled in—cheerful, supportive, never late. It was almost a relief. I leaned back, letting technology do the emotional labor.